


Because You're Mine

by coruscera (impractica)



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, Game Spoilers, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:03:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7399906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impractica/pseuds/coruscera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rhys and Fiona disappear after opening the vault, Vaughn is officially pissed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because You're Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This fic absolutely wouldn't exist without [gloomsday](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gloomsday/pseuds/gloomsday)'s everything: cheerleading, audiencing, betaing, you name it. Thank you so much for everything, bb. <3

When Rhys and Fiona disappear after opening the vault, Vaughn is officially pissed. 

Sure, they reappear three days later, dirty and confused and smelling suspiciously like fermented skag shit (they won’t say _why_ , either, which bothers Vaughn to no end), but that’s not the point. The point is that he’s been best friends with Rhys for the better part of a decade now, and even though he’d literally go to the edge of the universe and back for Rhys if he had to—and he fully expects he will have to one day, he has no illusions about this friendship—he is so completely over being left in the dark when Rhys runs off and does something stupid. Sasha can handle things with Fiona however she wants, but where Rhys is concerned, Vaughn’s had enough. Which is why he’s fixing this, right now.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, smiling his sweetest best-friends smile when Rhys answers his knock. It’s easy, smiling at Rhys, even when he wants to punch him. Which… kind of makes Vaughn want to punch him even more, actually. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah!” Rhys hurries to step aside. “I mean, it’s your base, so. _Mi casa_ is literally _su casa_ , right?” 

That makes Vaughn smile for real. “Well it’s not like I own the place,” he says, but he steps through the open door and makes sure it closes behind him. He thinks about engaging the electronic locks, too, but that would probably be too suspicious. “Uh, sorry if I’m interrupting, by the way? I didn’t realize you were still getting cleaned up.”

Rhys scrubs at his damp hair with a ratty towel. He’s shirtless, too, which is pretty convenient for Vaughn’s plan, but somewhat less helpful for actually staying focused on the plan. With some effort, Vaughn tears his gaze away from the delicate blue of Rhys’s tattoos. It’s been a long time since he’s seen them all, scrolling across his collarbone and all the way down his left arm, but they’re as gorgeous as he remembers.

“Nah, you’re good,” Rhys says. “I was probably dawdling anyway. So nice to have a hot shower again after—well, all that, you know?”

Vaughn clenches his jaw at the reminder that there’s still a whole shitload of things Rhys isn’t telling him about what happened out there: where they went, how they got back, why there’s a band of purple bruises circling his ribs on one side. That’s fine; Vaughn doesn’t need to know right now. Or ever, if Rhys doesn’t want to share. That’s why he’s here: so he never has to wonder again.

Rhys is smiling expectantly, so Vaughn forces himself to relax and return the easy grin. “Yeah, I bet. I think I cried a little when I finally got my first bath on Pandora.”

“Life’s simple pleasures,” Rhys sighs, looking wistful. “Anyway, what’s up? Everything okay? Wait, let me guess: my adoring fans are asking about me again.”

“Actually—yes,” Vaughn says, caught off guard, but it really is true. “I think they’re planning you a party? So maybe start dropping hints now about your favorite cake flavor, unless you want one of _every_ flavor plus the unspoken obligation to eat them all.”

Rhys grins. “Noted. I’ll start laying the groundwork for that one. Seriously though, they’re not very good worshippers-slash-stalkers if they haven’t figured out yet that I’m a brownie à la mode guy all the way. There are probably about a thousand cafeteria transactions for it in my account on the old Hyperion system.”

Vaughn remembers that, of course; he was probably there for every one of those brownies. But he resists the urge to start in on the snarky observations now. “Hey, they’re still new at this whole cult thing. Give ‘em time.”

“Yeah, fair.” Rhys shrugs, apparently unconcerned about the idea of his former coworkers digging through his old dining receipts. “That all? Because that reminds me, I’m starving, so let me just grab a shirt and we can head down to the—”

Vaughn has Rhys by the bicep before he even thinks about it. Rhys can’t leave, not yet, not before Vaughn does what he came here to do. “Wait,” he says. Rhys’s skin is cool and still a little damp under his hand, and he has to swallow hard before he can continue. “There’s… there’s something else, actually.”

Vaughn knows he sounds way too serious, and that fact is only confirmed for him when Rhys’s eyebrows go up and he leans into Vaughn’s grip. “Vaughn. What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Rhys glances away and his eyes track vaguely over nothing as he runs some kind of scan, the cybernetic one glowing a soft, warm gold. It’s strange to see, ethereal in a completely different way than the blue eye was, but Vaughn thinks he maybe likes it better, this new eye that Rhys made himself, that has nothing at all to do with Hyperion. “Is it—? It’s not Jack, right? Nobody’s heard or seen him anywhere in the system, have they?”

Oh, hell. _Way_ too serious. That’s the last thing he wants to remind Rhys of right now. Or ever. He’s seen the security footage from Jack’s office after the crash and that’s another thing that’s gone unmentioned between them so far, another way Vaughn failed Rhys by not knowing where to look for him.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Vaughn says quickly, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s just an administrative thing we need to take care of before you… I mean, now that you’re back. A minor precaution.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the small injection gun he brought along, holding it up for Rhys’s approval. “Vaccines for our triumphant galactic voyagers! Congrats, you qualify for the friends and family discount. Which is to say, it’s on the house.”

Rhys’s eye dims back to its more normal glow and his shoulders sag in obvious relief. “Oh!” He laughs, a little hollowly at first and then with more feeling, bracing himself against Vaughn as he doubles over. “Ah, wow, okay. You scared the hell out of me, dude. Sure, yeah, vaccinate away!” He presents his shoulder to Vaughn, whipping the wet towel off of it and tossing it aside. “Pretty sure I didn’t pick up any weird diseases or anything out there, but hey. You make the rules, boss.”

Vaughn is amazed, because that’s it, this is going to be so easy: position the injector, pull the trigger, and it’s over. It’s _all_ over. No more panic, no more sleepless nights; no more fruitless searches that end before they’ve even begun because he has no leads. From this moment on, Vaughn will always know, without a doubt, exactly where to find Rhys when he disappears.

Vaughn smiles again, sheepish this time. “Sorry about that, bro. Didn’t mean to freak you out. I guess I still need to work on my bedside manner, huh?” He gestures with the injection gun as he raises it and presses the tip to Rhys’s skin, careful to pick a spot that’s unmarked by blue.

“Maybe a little,” Rhys says. “But I’m probably just kinda jumpy, too. I know he’s gone, like _gone_ gone, I made sure, but sometimes I still feel like that asshole is in my head, you know? Watching me, waiting, keeping tabs on everything I do.” His face scrunches up on itself and he rakes shiny silver fingers through his hair. “Dumb, I know. Like that’d even be possible.”

The breath Vaughn had been drawing sticks in his throat, thick and heavy like putty. The injector, still unused but flush against Rhys’s arm, suddenly feels like it weighs about a thousand pounds. He coughs awkwardly. “Um,” he manages.

“Sorry, sorry,” Rhys says, waving his hands and then squaring himself up again. “Don’t mind me, I know you’ve got shit to do around here. So go ahead, heal me! Or like… preemptively heal me? That sounds so bullshitty though, like something Hyperion would’ve said before they pumped you full of experimental drugs and punted you out an airlock.”

Vaughn is still frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare dumbly at Rhys, then down at the injector, then back at Rhys again. Bile rises up from his gut and he swallows hard, trying to force it back down. _You can do this_ , he tells himself, finger twitching against the injector’s trigger. _It’s not the same thing, not at all, and anyway he’ll never even know until he really needs it and is too grateful to care, so get it done. This has to happen._

Rhys smiles at him, simple and sweet, like this is no big deal. Like he trusts Vaughn completely. Like he knows Vaughn, his best friend in the whole world, would never betray him.

“Shit,” Vaughn says. He lets his hand fall and his gaze follows. “I can’t do this.”

“What?” Rhys laughs. “Everything you’ve been through, and you’re suddenly squeamish about injections? Here, let me have it, I can do it myself. Double check my placement?”

“No,” Vaughn says.

“Really, it’s fine,” Rhys insists. “I put a whole new arm on myself, I’m pretty sure I can give myself a—”

“No,” Vaughn says again, panic welling up as he watches Rhys get ready to inject himself. He lunges forward, grabbing the injector back from where Rhys took it from his limp hand. Rhys gapes, too shocked to put up a fight. “You _can’t_. I’m—I fucked up, okay? I’m sorry, Rhys, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” He sounds like a lunatic now, obviously, but he doesn’t even care anymore: all he can think about is keeping that injection gun away from Rhys, keeping its contents out of Rhys’s arm.

“Vaughn.” Rhys’s eye flares again, a bright flash of gold, and Vaughn knows _he’s_ being scanned this time. Checked for malicious AI or alien possession, probably. Maybe Vaughn can use one of those as an excuse for what he almost did. Rhys grabs him by the shoulders and crouches enough that they’re eye to eye. “Vaughn, please talk to me. What’s wrong?”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Vaughn doesn’t want to say it—would rather die than say it, actually—but he pretty much has to after that little display.

“It’s a tracker,” he blurts, his eyes screwed shut. The words burst out of him hard like a gunshot. Like a crash.

Like a space station dropping from orbit and smashing to the ground.

Rhys blinks at him. “What?”

“A tracker,” Vaughn says again, through gritted teeth. It’s no less painful getting it out the second time but he forces himself, and makes himself look up at Rhys, too, for good measure. Just to feel the sting as much as possible.

“No, I heard you, but I don’t—. What do you mean, ‘it’s a tracker’? _What’s_ a tracker?” Rhys is still holding onto him, fingers digging into the backs of Vaughn’s arms a little. Vaughn isn’t afraid of Rhys, of course he isn’t, but it’s also not lost on him that if Rhys wants to punch his lights out at some point in the near future, it would kind of hurt a lot from this distance.

Vaughn winces and lifts the injector gun between them. He looks at it meaningfully.

“Huh?” Rhys frowns at it. “That?” 

Vaughn sways in Rhys’s grip, feeling shittier by the second, but he nods. 

“That’s the tracker?” Rhys’s brow furrows even more and then suddenly his eyes go as wide as saucers. “Wait. You were about to lojack me?”

“No!” Vaughn finally pulls away, stumbling backward into the center of the room where he can breathe, where he can look at something other than Rhys’s face inches away from his and maybe scrape together a coherent thought or two. “I mean. Technically you could look at it that way, I guess? But it’s not really that simple, and the tech is actually kind of cool. I had Yvette find it for me and double check that it wouldn’t interfere with any of your existing—”

“Vaughn,” Rhys says again. It comes out tired this time, though, not tight and scared like before. “Come on, dude.”

Vaughn bites his lip and blinks hard once. “I was about to lojack you,” he confirms. He tosses the injector to the floor and then clenches his fists, bracing for the blow that he one hundred percent deserves.

But Rhys doesn’t make a move for him. In fact, at Vaughn’s words, he just kind of… deflates: his shoulders slump and he drops to the bed, sitting down hard on the thin mattress that Vaughn knows is stiff as a board. He threads his robotic fingers through his hair and looks up at Vaughn instead, the hurt and confusion stamped across his face. “Why?” is all he says after several long beats of silence.

“I’m sorry,” Vaughn starts, because really, it doesn’t even matter why; there’s no reason good enough to justify what he was about to do. “I’m sorry, it was stupid, and also a gross violation of your… your _everything_ : your privacy and your body and your right to not be stalked by—by someone you trust. I had no right, Rhys. I had no right and I’m so, so sorry.”

“Yeah, okay,” Rhys says, still watching Vaughn with a newly guarded expression that’s like a hot knife sliding right through Vaughn’s ribs. “But. Why?”

Vaughn falters. What is he supposed to say? _I’m terrified of losing you? The last three days almost killed me? If you disappear again it’s going to break my heart for good?_ It’s all true, but he’s barely gotten brave enough to say those things to himself, silently, closed up in the suffocating dark of his room at night. He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to say any of that to Rhys.

“I just wanted to be ready for anything,” he finally settles on. It’s as true as the rest of it, but minus all the gross feelings that Rhys really doesn’t need to hear. It’s what he told Yvette, and she’d seemed mollified enough.

“Ready for—” Rhys springs back to his feet and the flat plane of his stomach swells as he takes a huge, outraged breath. “Geez, Vaughn, ready for what, exactly? Like I’m gonna wander off like some lost puppy? Or get snatched in the night? Or maybe disappear into thin—”

Vaughn raises his eyebrows.

“—oh,” Rhys finishes. He goes a little pale. “Well, okay, point taken. But that was a fluke, right? One in a million thing. No way that’s ever happening again.”

“Won’t it, though?” Vaughn’s emotions are careening like a rollercoaster, ascending smoothly one minute and bucking hard into freefall the next. He rides another surge of adrenaline as he steps forward into Rhys’s space again. “Can you honestly say that, Rhys? Do you really believe this is all magically going to stop now?”

“It was a bad year!” Rhys makes exasperated faces at the ceiling and pulls at the back of his own neck with both hands. “There were some… _incidents_ , I’ll give you that, but the vault stuff is settled! Everyone who hated me is either dead or likes me now! Or—okay, or they’re August, but I think he just wants to forget he knows me altogether? Anyway, there’s nothing to worry about anymore!”

“A bad year,” Vaughn says. He’s trying not to yell, but he can tell his voice is still… loud. Loudish. “A bad _year_? Remember when we were sophomores and you passed out in the offsite server room for sixteen hours? I had the whole campus security team hunting for you! Or the next semester, when you fucked off to a ‘party’ and ended up on the wrong side of the border for two days with no way to communicate?” Rhys flinches a little at that one, but Vaughn presses on. “And I’m sure I don’t even need to mention the whole lost-in-a-cargo-hold thing from the week of graduation, right?”

It’s harsh, Vaughn knows. Maybe too harsh. Most of those things weren’t even Rhys’s fault, exactly—he was just the victim of shitty circumstances and shittier company—but that’s the whole point: even when Rhys tries to sit tight and stay out of trouble, disaster finds him.

“I’m sorry,” Rhys says softly, after a long silence. He maintains steady eye contact with the warped metal panels of the floor. “Really, man, I had no idea I was such a burden. It must’ve sucked to waste so much time hunting me down, so, y’know. Consider your friend duties more than fulfilled.”

“Rhys, _no_.” The words rush out of Vaughn on one hard, punched-out exhale. He reaches reflexively for Rhys’s shoulder but then pulls back, not sure whether he’s allowed to touch right now, or ever again. “No, I—I’ll always look for you. Whatever happens, whoever runs off with you, I’ll do everything I can to find you. With or without the tracker.”

When Rhys looks up his expression is still miserable, but at least he looks up. “You don’t have to,” he says. “Really. I always find my way back eventually, and in one piece.” His gaze flicks down to his new arm. “More or less. But seriously, you’re not my babysitter. I know I’m a mess—I don’t expect a rescue every time I go out and do something stupid.”

“Well you should,” Vaughn says, and he’s not loud anymore, but he’s still angry. “Damn it, Rhys, that’s what I’m trying to tell you: you _should_ expect a rescue, from _me_ , because I’m sick of being without you, okay? I couldn’t find you after Helios fell, and I didn’t even know where to start looking after the vault blinked away, and I just—.” He brushes his fingers over Rhys’s wrist, unable to help himself. “I don’t expect you to stop being you,” he says finally, rather than finish that thought. “I mean shit, dude, you gave me my adrenaline fixes before I even knew I needed them, you know? I wouldn’t have you any other way.” 

Rhys smiles at that, a tiny, cautious thing. Vaughn takes it as an invitation—or permission, at least—and slides his hand into Rhys’s the rest of the way, lacing their fingers together. When Rhys returns the grip, his fingers kneading against the back of Vaughn’s hand, relief washes over Vaughn so powerfully that he has to draw a deep, shuddering breath before he can continue. 

“All I’m saying is that it’s dangerous out there, mister president. Someone should be watching out for you while you do your thing.”

And that’s the heart of it, really, the truth Vaughn may never be able to admit out loud: Rhys is a target. He got himself into enough trouble when he was just a regular guy—a student and then a middle manager and even an amateur vault hunter. But now… well. Now he’s Rhys the savior. Rhys the CEO. Rhys the sweet, naive soul who thinks he’s somehow _safer_ now that he’s literally the most famous person on the planet.

“I guess that makes sense,” Rhys says eventually. “But you really want that someone to be you? Apparently I’m kind of a handful.”

Vaughn’s heart twists in his chest, wrung hard like an old rag. “Of course I do.”

Rhys considers this. After several agonizingly long moments, the doubting quirk to his lips turns sly. “Well. I guess dashing rescuer _would_ be a pretty good look on you, now that you mention it,” he says. His gaze travels down the full length of Vaughn’s body and back again, and he cocks an eyebrow. “Especially these days.”

They’re standing close, reeled in toward each other by their clasped hands, and a lot of things hit Vaughn simultaneously: a sharp kick of shock, for one, and the casual heat in Rhys’s tone, for another. And then there’s how not-quite-clothed they both already are, their bare chests almost touching as the space between them shrinks. It’s a lot to handle, especially only milliseconds after being convinced that you’ve fucked up the best, most important thing in your life.

“Ha, right,” Vaughn scoffs—or, rather, would have scoffed, if the words hadn’t come out quite so breathy, snagging on the tight hitch in his chest as he pushes them out. “I only promised rescues; I said nothing about being dashing. I got marched in at gunpoint the last time I saved you, remember?”

“With a big-ass knife and your squad of laser pointers,” Rhys counters. “It was a major turn-on, once I was sure you weren’t going to kill me.”

“You’re such a liar,” Vaughn says, but his blood surges in his veins all the same. “I know it’s been a while, but I do remember what you like. And it’s not ratty bandit chic.” 

Rhys slides his free hand into Vaughn’s vest, metal fingers still just this side of warm from his shower. He flattens his palm against Vaughn’s ribs and tugs him in the rest of the way. “Pandora, man,” he says against Vaughn’s temple, his breath hot in Vaughn’s hair. “What can I say? I guess it changes people.”

“Yeah,” Vaughn agrees, because that’s obviously true. “But not completely, I hope?”

Rhys’s lips twitch. “Nah. Not completely.” 

Vaughn chances it then, fairly certain he’s reading things right, and turns his face toward Rhys’s, coming up on the balls of his feet the way he’s always had to at moments like this. It’s gratifying how Rhys is already smiling a little, waiting; how Rhys hums contentedly when their lips meet. Vaughn’s spine tingles at the sound.

“Missed this,” he says between kisses, doing his best to let Rhys control the pace even though every cell in his body remembers how this goes and wants it now, _now_. He nuzzles his beard into the hollow of Rhys’s collarbone and is rewarded with Rhys’s twitching laughter. “Missed _you_.”

“I'm starting to get that impression, yes,” Rhys says, his voice warm and full of smiles. “It's subtle, though… I may need more data. I’ll have to get back to you when I know for sure.”

Vaughn grins because he remembers this, too, the way it's so easy between them when they're not busy fucking things up. When he’s not busy being the old Vaughn, worrying so hard that he forgets to enjoy the truly perfect moments like this one. “Oh, well. I think I can help you there.”

Rhys makes a questioning sort of noise, but it twists into a sharp inhale when Vaughn goes to his knees at Rhys’s feet.

“How’s that? Any clearer?”

“Okay, yeah, I think that’s—nhhh,” Rhys says, his words cracking apart at the first touch of Vaughn’s lips to his stomach. 

Vaughn smiles and presses his cheek to the same spot, rubbing his face absently on the smooth, bare skin. It has to tickle like crazy with the beard, but that makes it even more fun. He tucks his fingers into the waistband of Rhys’s borrowed pants and breathes against the fly as he pops open the buttons. “How about now?”

“Shit, _Vaughn_ ,” is all Rhys says in reply, but it’s obvious how wrecked he is already, how much he wants this too. Vaughn nuzzles in further, pulling fabric away until it’s just Rhys there in front of him: Rhys’s fluttering abdomen, the vee of his hips, the pretty, flushed curve of his cock.

“You let me know when you’re sure,” Vaughn says, probably dragging the joke on too long, but fuck it. He’s not really thinking clearly anymore either, still dizzy on his own relief and now the feeling of Rhys’s body under his hands. He opens his mouth and catches Rhys between his lips, and before Rhys’s breathy sigh even fully escapes him, Vaughn is swallowing him down.

It really has been a while since they’ve done this—not since the caravan roadtripping days, before everything went completely to shit, when they snuck away from camp one night and fooled around under the surprisingly beautiful Pandoran sky. But Vaughn wasn’t kidding when he said he remembers what Rhys likes, so he puts that knowledge to use, dragging his tongue up the underside of Rhys’s dick and sucking at the crown before pressing slowly back down.

“Oh god,” Rhys breathes, his voice shaky. He sways on his feet with every stroke, meeting each bob of Vaughn’s head with a barely restrained thrust. “That’s—you’re so—”

Vaughn pulls back and lets Rhys’s tip rest against the inside of his lower lip so that he can smile up at Rhys. “Hm?” He curls his tongue out in a slow flick, tracing up the slit.

“You’re so going to _kill me_ ,” Rhys finishes, almost a wail. When Vaughn just laughs and closes his lips again, sliding them down Rhys’s slim, tapered length, Rhys curls forward at the waist and clutches desperately at the back of Vaughn’s head.

And that’s a thing Rhys actually _doesn’t_ know yet, a little kink Vaughn wasn’t even sure about himself until this moment: Rhys’s fingers sinking into his hair feel fucking amazing. Without missing a stroke, Vaughn reaches up and snaps the elastic off his ponytail, letting his hair fall loose to his shoulders. He hopes Rhys will take the hint.

“Whoa,” Rhys says as he buries one hand in it and then the other, tightening his grip just a little, just enough to make Vaughn shiver. “This is incredible, you know that? I don’t have a clue how you managed to grow this ridiculously thick and gorgeous head of hair while bandit-ing around Pandora, but seriously, it’s incredible. _You’re_ incredible.”

Vaughn hums, pleased, and keeps sucking.

“Helios, the life you have now, everything you’ve built,” Rhys continues, like the ‘on’ switch for his mouth has been flipped and then abandoned. “Everything about you is just—and your _clothes_ , dude, for fuck’s sake. I know we talked about it already, but god, you walk around here like an actual boss _and_ you look like that? It’s not fucking fair, man. The first time I saw you in the bandit gear, when I saw that it really was you, I thought I was gonna sprain something with how fast I got h—oh, _fuck.”_

Vaughn can only handle so much of this before he breaks, and he’s honestly reaching his limit. In a bid to silence Rhys and spare himself the indignity of coming in his pants, Vaughn takes a deep breath and pushes down until his lips are wrapped around the base of Rhys’s dick and the head presses toward his throat.

“ _Vaughn_ ,” Rhys chokes out, and Vaughn feels Rhys’s knees bump into his chest when they threaten to buckle. “Vaughn, Vaughn, where did you—shit, that feels so good… so warm… and when you swallow like that, I can feel it _everywhere_ , it’s so—”

Vaughn hears himself whine, embarrassingly enough, the sound muffled by Rhys’s cock head. He pulls off abruptly and pushes his face into Rhys’s hip. “Rhys,” he says, panting hard, ostensibly from the lack of air but actuallyfrom the way Rhys’s words are making every nerve in his body tingle. “Your _mouth_ , man, holy shit. You keep talking like that, and I’m gonna come before you do.”

Even as he says it, Vaughn has to admit to himself that there’s a certain appeal: crouched at Rhys’s feet, jaw stretched around Rhys’s dick, coming in his cargoes completely untouched. Giving Rhys literally everything.

Rhys laughs, giddy and unsteady sounding, and retreats a step, tugging on Vaughn’s hair just enough that his intention for Vaughn to stand is clear. “Well, we can’t have that,” he says, eyebrow arching when Vaughn gets to his feet. “If you come now, how are you going to fuck me in a minute?”

It’s Vaughn’s turn now to suck in a shocked breath, his whole body involuntarily arching toward Rhys’s as the words bolt straight to his groin. His dick throbs, and he desperately wants to press his palm to it—just for a second, just to take the edge off—but he doesn’t dare.

“You—yeah?” he says instead, trying to feign cool for some reason, like everyone here doesn’t know he almost got off from deep-throating Rhys fifteen seconds ago. “You want to?”

“Uh.” Rhys looks at Vaughn, and then down at his own cock where it's straining up against his abdomen, still hard and shiny with saliva, and then back at Vaughn. He grins but his brow furrows in confusion, too. “Dude. Yes? Was that not clear?”

And that’s… it's everything right now, the thought of fucking Rhys, the idea that Rhys would still want it even after—what happened, before. What _almost_ happened. Vaughn’s desperate for it, he can't pretend he's not, but he’s also so wary: not of Rhys, but of himself.

Vaughn wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, stalling for time. He can’t help but follow Rhys's gaze, too, lingering on the flushed skin of Rhys’s cock, thinking about how smooth and soft it felt against his tongue. “No, that’s—yeah, I mean yes, I guess it is, but I just.”

Rhys’s smile falters a little, the line between his eyebrows deepening. “Okay. Do _you_ not want to, then? Because we don’t have to. I know it's probably a lot right now, but I just thought that maybe—”

“ _I want to,_ ” Vaughn almost shouts over him. “God, Rhys, I can barely even think straight with how much I want to. But I don’t—” He takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Shit. I don’t want to take advantage, all right? I already almost… I mean, you know, with the thing… and I didn’t want to presume, I guess? I just wanted to make you feel good, I wasn’t even thinking beyond that, so you really don’t have to feel obligated to—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Rhys says, holding up his hands. “Vaughn. Whoa. Let me stop you right there.”

Vaughn really wants to keep explaining, _so much_ , but he presses his lips together dutifully. 

“First of all.” Rhys brushes a strand of Vaughn’s hair out of his face. “Giving me something I want—something I’m _asking_ for—is not taking advantage. Okay?”

Vaughn nods, swallowing thickly as Rhys’s fingers trace along his temple and down his neck, dipping into the tattered cowl draped around his collarbone.

“And second of all.” Rhys pulls on the fabric, drawing Vaughn in with it. The material presses cool and taut against the back of his neck. “Nothing could make me feel better right now than having your dick in me, I can promise you that. So if you want to do this…”

Vaughn hears a broken sort of sound tumble out of his own mouth, but rather than concern himself with it, he careens forward and lets his lips crash into Rhys’s.

Rhys grunts in surprise but recovers quickly, humming laughter into Vaughn’s open mouth and chasing it with his tongue. “Well, I’m glad we got that figured out,” he says eventually, murmuring against Vaughn’s cheek. “Wanna take some clothes off now? I’ve got kind of a head start here.”

“You cheat,” Vaughn grumbles, mock outraged, but it’s really just to distract from how frantically he’s shucking off his vest and cowl and clawing at his belt buckle. “You started half naked, and I totally got your pants halfway off for you already. That head start was not fairly earned.”

Rhys shrugs, completely unapologetic, and backs toward the bed. “Yeah, so maybe I do cheat,” he says, and when his calves bump against the mattress, he pushes his pants off his hips and steps out of them. He’s all the way naked now, and Vaughn’s so busy looking his fill that he fumbles with trying to get his own fly open. “What’re you going to do about it?”

Vaughn blinks, momentarily stunned by the way Rhys’s words ripple through him, and then abandons his zipper in favor of striding up to Rhys and pulling him close, one hand at the back of Rhys’s neck and the other gripping the sharp jut of his hipbone. “So many things,” Vaughn breathes into Rhys’s ear, and then presses in until he tips them off balance and they tumble down to the bed. 

Rhys laughs when his back hits the mattress, a quick, giddy little hiccuping sound that bubbles out of him as he clutches at Vaughn's shoulders in surprise. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he says, his voice so fond that Vaughn has to bury his face in Rhys’s throat for a second to keep from being completely overwhelmed by it. While he’s there, he finds Rhys’s tattoo and opens his lips against it, tracing the thick arcs of black with his tongue.

“Oh my god,” Rhys groans, craning his head to the side to give Vaughn better access. His hands find Vaughn’s hair again and he grabs two fistfuls, making a messy tangle of it before he skims his palms down Vaughn’s bare shoulders, his bare back, his bare waist.

When he reaches the waistband of Vaughn’s pants, he stops.

“Get these off,” he says, tugging on the belt loops, his voice thick with arousal. When Vaughn doesn’t respond right away, he starts worming his hands beneath the fabric, making a feeble effort to push it down but mostly just kneading his fingertips into the curves of Vaughn’s ass cheeks. “Vaughn, your fucking _pants_ , come _on_. Seriously.”

Vaughn wants his pants off too, more than anything, but he can’t resist one brief grind of his hips against Rhys’s while he still has the tactical advantage of clothing.

“Nngh, _fuck_ ,” Rhys bites out, but he splays his knees out even wider and Vaughn settles comfortably against his groin. He can feel the hard ridge of Rhys’s cock pressing against his own and he rocks down again, gentler this time, like a reassurance.

“Yeah, we’ll get to that,” he says. “First, we need to…” He anchors himself with one hand on Rhys’s shoulder, then leans off the edge of the bed to fish around underneath it. He knows what he’s looking for and retrieves it often enough, so when his hand hits metal, he grabs the small rectangular shape and hoists it up to the bed beside them with practiced ease.

“Um,” Rhys says, eyebrows shooting up as Vaughn trips the latch on the battered Hyperion yellow box. “An ammo chest?”

“What? I figured you’d be into it, mister big-shot weapons mogul,” Vaughn volleys, flipping open the lid. He plucks a bottle of lube out of one of the foam-lined compartments and gives Rhys a pointed look.

Rhys’s eyes go wide and then he laughs, muffling it into Vaughn’s neck. “Shit, dude, you really are a badass now. Keeping your sex-cessories in an ammo chest.” He takes the bottle from Vaughn’s hand and kisses him on the cheek. “I’ll get you an Atlas one next time I’m in Old Haven. They’re much nicer. Roomier.”

The thought of Rhys going anywhere, even just back to Old Haven, catapults Vaughn’s heart straight into his throat, but he tries to push it out of his mind and focus on the other half of Rhys’s statement instead. “Roomier? Really? How much room for lube and condoms do you think I need, exactly?”

“Hey, with me hanging around here all the time, you never know,” Rhys says, murmuring it against Vaughn’s cheekbone and then dotting his face with aimless, lazy kisses.

Vaughn has no idea how Rhys knew he needed to hear that, but he definitely did, and his blood surges hot in his veins again as Rhys shifts beneath him. He props up on one arm and catches Rhys’s gaze. “Yeah, so speaking of condoms, actually,” he says.

Rhys looks up at him and both his pupils are huge and dark, his cybernetic iris a glittering ring around the black. “I—haven’t,” he says, his voice faltering, but he never breaks eye contact. “With anyone, not since we… before.”

That—shit, it hits Vaughn hard, he can’t even pretend otherwise. “ _Rhys_ ,” he says, the word riding out on a groan, and his cock throbs between them. He ducks his head and catches Rhys’s lower lip between his teeth, nipping at it gently until Rhys’s mouth opens enough for Vaughn to dip his tongue inside. “God, Rhys, me neither,” he finally gasps, their lips bumping together as he speaks. “Not at all, not even close. Just… just you.”

Rhys _whimpers_ , there’s no other word for it, and sweeps the ammo box off the bed with his elbow. “Need you,” he says, grasping at Vaughn’s face, neck, shoulders as the box crashes to the floor. “Please, Vaughn, I need you _now_ , please, come on.”

Vaughn knows the feeling, he thinks: he’s pretty sure he might actually implode if he doesn’t get all of Rhys’s skin against his in the next few seconds. He digs his toes into the mattress and lifts into a one-armed push-up over Rhys, shoving his own pants down to his thighs and then shimmying out of them one leg at a time, using his feet to kick them away. 

Rhys’s eyebrows shoot up. “Impressive,” he says, running a hand over Vaughn’s bicep.

Vaughn doesn’t respond, opting instead to lower himself slowly back down, watching Rhys’s face intently as their bodies touch in deliberate increments, chests first and then stomachs and then the smooth, slick tips of their dicks.

The way Rhys’s eyes roll back in his head is extremely satisfying.

“Lube, please,” Vaughn says against the underside of Rhys’s jaw, nuzzling the sharp line of it before he drops to his knees between Rhys’s legs.

Rhys produces the bottle he took from Vaughn before and tosses it over. “Start with two,” he says, his eyes wild and a blotchy red flush riding high on his cheeks.

Vaughn’s busy slicking his fingers but that stops him short. He raises an eyebrow at Rhys and tips his head dubiously.

“I can handle it,” Rhys bites out, sounding genuinely impatient now. 

“You sure?”

“ _Two_ , Vaughn.” Rhys sets his jaw firmly and twists his silver fist into the bedspread. “You’re going to have to trust me here.”

That word— _trust_ —echoes in Vaughn’s ears, rattling something deep inside him. He owes Rhys at least that much right now, and truth be told he’s desperate to give it. He sucks a bruising kiss to the inside of Rhys’s thigh and lines up two fingers, stroking light and coaxing against his hole. “Deep breaths,” he says, and then slowly pushes in.

Rhys was always beautifully responsive during sex, so Vaughn is mostly ready for it when he sucks in a huge, wet gasp and arches hard against the bed as Vaughn’s fingers slide in past the first knuckle, then the second. The soft keening sound is new, though, a breathy pant with some tone to it, and Vaughn freezes when Rhys clenches around him.

“‘m fine,” Rhys says, before Vaughn can even ask. “I’m good.” His eyes are firmly closed but the tension in his face from earlier is melting away, the tight lines around his mouth fading as his jaw goes slack. He takes one more deep breath and then the muscles gripping hard around Vaughn’s fingers loosen, too. It’s honestly impressive, the level of control on display. Vaughn would ask where Rhys learned it, but he suspects he already knows: rebuilding your own body in a deserted bunker somewhere must take take far more discipline than he can even imagine.

“Rhys,” he says hoarsely, his own control wavering as Rhys rolls his hips down to nudge Vaughn’s fingers deeper. He takes the cue, though, and starts fucking Rhys open with slow, methodical strokes.

Rhys groans and picks up the rhythm almost immediately, rocking down even harder and more urgently. Vaughn’s own body, all but forgotten as he watched Rhys’s unfold for him, flares hot everywhere now, his cock giving a hard, throbbing twitch as he watches his own fingers move.

It feels like forever, but it’s only another handful of seconds before Rhys’s fingertips flutter aimlessly against Vaughn’s wrist. “Ready,” he says, his voice cracked and raspy. “I’m so ready, Vaughn, c’mon. _Please_.”

Vaughn wants to argue: it’s hardly been any time at all, Rhys needs more prep, they’re out of practice and they really shouldn’t rush this no matter how much it’s killing them both. But before any of those thoughts even fully form, he’s pushing in hard once more, as deep as his regrettably short fingers will go, and then pulling them free entirely. He nods and Rhys grins up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused but his smile as bright as the sun.

The tip of Vaughn’s cock is already slick with precome, but he adds what lube is left on his fingers and more from the bottle, just to be sure. He laughs unsteadily at the feeling of his own hand curled around his length, because even that much, is—fuck. It’s a lot.

“Please, please,” Rhys keeps chanting, making good use of his long arms to clutch at Vaughn’s hips and dig his fingertips into the meat of Vaughn's ass cheeks, urging him on. His whole expression has gone unfocused and desperate, like a man who’s already one foot over the edge. “Please, you’ve gotta fuck me, Vaughn. You’ve gotta fuck me _now_.”

Vaughn means to go slowly, he really does, but when he lines up the tip of his cock and leans forward, Rhys opens for him so easily that it’s just one smooth, sweet slide and then they’re flush, locked together like puzzles pieces that were made to fit.

Rhys’s whole body goes taut when Vaughn fills him, his spine arching hard off the bed and his legs locking tightly around Vaughn’s waist. “ _God_ ,” he says, gasping it out as he throws his head back and drags in a huge, shuddering breath.

“Rhys,” Vaughn breathes, because that’s all he knows suddenly, every sense full to overflowing with Rhys’s scent, the feel of him, the small, airy sounds he makes when Vaughn settles his weight against Rhys’s chest and starts rocking just a little, just enough to feel movement while keeping his cock buried deep. Rhys is so hot and tight around him that Vaughn’s already wondering how he’ll make this last more than a handful of seconds, but when Rhys’s hips go liquid and his eyes flutter shut in surrender, Vaughn marshals every bit of his own control and resolves to try.

“Rhys,” he says again, more urgently, bracing his forearms against the bed on either side of Rhys’s head and dipping his face down to nuzzle along the underside of Rhys’s jaw. He keeps his hips moving, delivering slow, lazy thrusts that aren’t nearly enough for either of them but that have them both panting wetly against each other’s skin.

Rhys doesn't answer right away, not with words: instead, he reaches up and twists a hand into Vaughn's hair where it's falling in a messy curtain around them. The sensation blazes down Vaughn's spine like wildfire and he groans, obscenely low and loud in the small room.

"Too gentle," Rhys finally says into Vaughn's ear, just when Vaughn figured he was probably too far gone to talk. He punctuates it with two sharp bucks of his hips, overriding Vaughn's rhythm with a harder, faster pace of his own that he clearly wants Vaughn to adopt. "I know you think you'll hurt me, but you won't, bro. I know you won't—not now, not ever."

Vaughn thought he was broken before but now he knows that was nothing, not even close, because _this_ is broken: this shivering, cracked-open feeling tearing at his chest, shredding through his lungs and shaking him right down to his bones. He scrambles back to his knees far enough to shift Rhys's legs from around his waist to over his shoulders, hoisting them recklessly, and then with something like a sob he sways back and then _slams_ forward, driving into Rhys so hard that his thighs quiver.

“Yes,” Rhys hisses, little more than a sharp exhale. “Fuck, yes, just like that, _please_ , Vaughn.”

Vaughn obliges because really, that’s all he _can_ do. He fucks Rhys senseless.

It's hard to tell who unravels faster: Rhys, spread out and writhing at Vaughn's knees, whining desperately with each thrust, or Vaughn, steeped in the sensation of having Rhys bare, the hot clench around his dick growing somehow growing hotter and tighter every moment. 

“I'm close,” Vaughn hears himself say suddenly, and he’s surprised at how true it is. 

“Same,” Rhys says back immediately. “I’m so close, too, but I want to feel you come first, okay? Can you?” Rhys’s hand drifts to his own cock and rests there lightly—not stroking yet, just touching—but the way it twitches up under his palm, so eager, and the matching squeeze of his ass are the last push Vaughn needs. He fucks in hard one last time, clutching at Rhys’s legs for leverage, and before he can even offer Rhys so much as a reply, he comes.

Vaughn does his best to keep moving while he rides out his orgasm, dimly aware that Rhys is jerking himself off and aiming to follow Vaughn over, but his whole body has gone tight like a tripwire and all he can manage is a slow, rhythmless rocking as he empties into Rhys. That must be enough, though, because it’s only a few more seconds before Rhys’s knees tighten abruptly over Vaughn’s shoulders and his breathy gasps coalesce into a long, ragged exhale.

“Oh god,” Rhys says, dragging the last word out, and Vaughn watches with no small amount of satisfaction as Rhys squeezes his eyes shut and comes in long arcs across his own chest, streaking his tattoos with white. Vaughn’s seen it before, of course, but something about this feels like the first time.

They don’t say anything for several moments, just moving absently together like a rippling pool settling back into calm. When Vaughn feels his dick begin to soften he shifts backward and lets it slide out, and Rhys’s eyes fly open at the sensation.

“Oh _god_ ,” Rhys says again, but in a completely different tone of voice. A smile tugs at his lips and he reaches down with his human hand to feel between his ass cheeks, fingertips gliding through the mess leaking out of him. “That was. So amazing,” he says, meeting Vaughn’s gaze and letting the smile twist into a sleazy smirk.

Vaughn’s dick gives a genuine but futile twitch as he watches Rhys dip a curious finger into himself up to the first knuckle. “Oh come on, stop it,” Vaughn groans, ducking out from under Rhys’s legs so that he can flop down on the bed beside him. He covers his face with his hands. “You've gotta give me at _least_ a few minutes to recover before you start doing that kind of shit. I’m only human, you know.”

Rhys laughs, clearly delighted, and gives up his exploration in favor of turning toward Vaughn. He nestles himself in the crook of Vaughn’s shoulder, throwing a leg over so that Vaughn is completely pinned. Vaughn can’t bring himself to care, even when he feels a wet smear against his ribs as Rhys snuggles in close.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” Rhys says in the least sorry-sounding voice ever.

“Uh-huh, sure. I totally believe you.” Vaughn reaches down with the hand that’s gripping Rhys’s shoulder to poke him in the ribs. He’s aiming for more laughs—Rhys is ridiculously ticklish just about everywhere and Vaughn’s definitely not above exploiting that—but when Rhys sucks in a sharp breath and twists away from the touch, Vaughn jerks his hand back like he’s been burned. “Oh no, what? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He’d tried to be careful before, he _knew_ they needed to be, but everything was happening so fast and Rhys was so insistent that maybe they took it too far, pushed too hard somehow.

Rhys props himself up on one arm and lifts the other, craning his head down to examine his torso. Vaughn leans in to follow his gaze and—oh. Shit. The bruises. The ones Rhys got in the vault, the ones blotted across his skin like dark, angry ink. Vaughn sinks back into the bed and tries to be as small as possible.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t—uh, I mean. Yeah. I’m just sorry.”

“Hey,” Rhys says, scrambling around beside Vaughn until he can climb right on top of him, straddling Vaughn’s thighs and lowering his head so that they’re almost nose to nose. “Listen, no. You can’t be sorry, because _I’m_ sorry. Because it’s my fault, okay?”

Vaughn bites his lip. They were past past this, he knows, but he still feels kind of sick over it: Rhys sporting mystery wounds that he wasn’t there to prevent and can’t do anything to fix now.

Rhys’s expression softens even more and he nuzzles the tip of his nose against Vaughn’s. “I’ll tell you about it,” he says, barely above a whisper, like it’s hard for him to say at all. “After I clean up again and we get something to eat, we’ll come back here and get in bed and I’ll tell you everything.”

“You don’t have to,” Vaughn makes himself say.

Rhys smiles and he kisses Vaughn sweetly, sucking gently at his lower lip. “I know,” he says as he pulls back, following it up with a flurry of quicker kisses and another beaming grin. He slides off of Vaughn and steps to the floor with a surprising amount of grace. “I want to, though. And speaking of things I want to do, where’s the—ah, here we go.”

Vaughn watches, confused, as Rhys retrieves the injector gun from the corner where it landed when Vaughn tossed it away. Then, before Vaughn can even react, Rhys squares it up in his robot hand, presses the tip to the join between his neck and shoulder, and pulls the trigger. There’s the unmistakable _hiss-click_ of the cartridge inside deploying and then the gun beeps agreeably, its task complete.

“Rhys!” Vaughn clambers out of the bed so fast that he nearly trips himself with the tangle of sheets around his feet. “What the—what? Did you really just… _what_?”

Rhys throws the gun back to the floor and then hauls Vaughn in by the wrist, guiding Vaughn’s arms around his waist. He looks so smug that Vaughn sort of wants to punch him all over again. 

“I never said it was a bad idea,” Rhys says, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance. The small red mark on his skin looks angry, but it doesn’t appear to bother him, either. “Seemed wise to avoid the arm, though. I have a little trouble hanging onto those.”

Vaughn closes his eyes to steady himself, because honestly, what’s he even supposed to say to that? 

Rhys plows ahead, filling the silence. “I also realized that it might be pretty handy, you know? I mean, what if I need a good fuck and I’m too busy to explain where I’m at? This’ll be such a time saver, really. We should have done it ages ago.”

“Oh my god,” Vaughn says.

“No takebacks, by the way,” Rhys says with a laugh, pulling Vaughn all the way into a hug. “The chip’s in, I’m marked, it’s a done deal. I’m officially your problem now.”

Vaughn feels the smile tugging at his mouth but he doesn’t want Rhys to see it just yet, so he keeps his face turned away and presses a gentle kiss on the injection mark instead. 

“Yeah,” he says, his lips brushing against warm skin as Rhys squeezes him tight. “You are definitely my problem.”


End file.
